Silk Threads and Runway Lights
by Amory Blackwood
Summary: A Harry/Draco fic, sewing, modeling woes, and why won't ron just leave harry alone?
1. Chapter 1

Narcissa Black-Malfoy was sitting at a pretty little café somewhere in America, where she had fled sometime before the war ended. No one in her family save her sister Bellatrix knew exactly where she was, not even her beloved son Draco. How she wished she could floo him and talk with him for hours about what he had been doing since she escaped the raid on the mansion that had nearly killed her and Bella and had killed Lucius. It was probably that muggle lover, Arthur Weasley, who led the aurors to their mansion. While in her reverie of the battle where she lost not only her husband, and financial ties to the Wizarding world, but her son, her beloved only child was lost to her now, she sat there sipping her tea, English Breakfast of course, waiting for Bella to show up so they could go shopping. A single tear runs down her face as she sips, thinking of the final moments before she left.

"Mom!" Draco screamed, watching her fall through the balcony of their home, trying to escape the Auror who was attempting to grab her, waving his wand with a screamed 'Wingardium Leviosa' spell to break her fall.

"Run Draco, just run. I'll be fine," Narcissa bellowed at him "Just get your self out of here, and to safety."

Without looking back, Draco turned on his heel and ran for the passageway the aurors hadn't found yet, hoping to make it outside to the forest, and hopefully freedom. Behind him he heard a bellowed "Sectumsempra" and a high-pitched scream following it. Yet he kept running, knowing his mother had tried her best.

Draco Malfoy had been busy since the end of the war. He'd managed to escape to Italy before Voldemort had raised the wards that kept England apart from the rest of the world, the intention being to take over one country at a time. Nobody on the continent knew why they fell not six months later… after all; Voldemort was England's problem.

The problem with England, Draco had soon learned after arriving in Milan, was that they assumed they were the center of the world – and therefore able to make judgments about how other Ministries should run their countries. He knew he would soon tire of this speech the moment the Italian Minister, Maso Lucciano, began for the eighth time. That the Italian Ministry was also making the same claims about their region he found secretly amusing. Of course he would not have told Maso this. It seemed to be a rule that one doesn't complain about inter-country politics especially not over dinner.

The instant he had arrived from the international apparation point, he had been surprised about how lax the security seemed. The minister himself had greeted him when he walked out of the terminal to find himself a new life in Italy. Of course, discovering the identity of the Minister had been its own adventure…

"Hello Mr. Malfoy and welcome to the most beautiful country in the world. I am Maso and your guide for the day. First, we need to get all of your papers in order." Maso had begun walking toward one of the translucent plexiglas cubicles where said paperwork could be done and visitors or immigrant's luggage could be checked. Suddenly, he stopped as if pondering something. "Malfoy, is that French?" The way that he pronounce Draco's last name was as if he was tasting it like one of the fine wines Italy produces.

Draco hesitantly smiled. He had been full of dread when the man had paused, of course assuming that someone had heard of the war this far south and with it, the taint that now would cover the Malfoy name considering his parent's affiliation with the Dark Lord. "That's right. My great great great grandfather was Jean-Marc Malfoi, who emigrated to England from the Toulouse-"

Maso simply began to nod as he continued his glide toward the box, absently noting the accent and historical explanation. "Pure blood?" he asked with an almost pitying glance.

"Very." Draco was just confused. Why would this man who knew nothing about him pity him for being pure blood.

"Me too. Ever since we were little, they tried to drill it into our little brains until they could hold no more and we could explain and trace our history back more than I don't know how many generations by rote… oh don't worry, it's not too obvious, Mr. Malfoy. More than your history, you'll need to overcome the colour of your complexion."

Draco couldn't help but grimace. He hated how sunscreen felt on his skin, the grease sinking in so that felt more like a pig at one of those foul Muggle fairs (that he would only too quickly assure anyone that he'd only heard about, had never experienced), but the alternative of painfully looking like a lobster was more horrid. And he had chosen a place in the Mediterranean as the place to escape to… why?

"And don't worry about the state of your name… it's still good on the continent. We don't care about the states of your British war or the side that your family is on. It's none of our business." Maso was quickly assuring him when he tuned back in to what his guide was saying.

Ah, that was right. He had chosen the Mediterranean because it was somewhere where no one would look for him. The Malfoy name was clear here. … But how would this man, presumably only an innocent guide, know that that was one of his concerns? That his name was French in origin was easy to guess, though by no means would he try to change it to mean "good faith" instead ('Bienfoi' just didn't have the same ring). He stalled right outside of the door to the box while Maso entered unassumingly.

"… How…?"

"My twin brother Massimo is right now sitting in the seat of Minister of Magic. For magical twins, there is not much that can be kept secret from one another. But of course you know that. No, Mr. Malfoy, you are quite safe in this country."

"Thank you." And with a sense of relief, Draco entered the box.

. .

That had been years ago. He still remembered the shock from when he had walked straight into the Minister's office from that hallway to indeed find Maso's identical twin sitting at the desk… only to rise and attempt to wrestle Maso into it with a glare.

. .

"When I said I would take over for a little bit, I assumed you weren't asking for more than a lunch period. But no, you had to take all afternoon off and leave me trying to pretend to be you. Maso, my dinner crowd has probably already started and here you are just flaking and who is this?"

"Draco Malfoy from England. I'm assuming it's not for vacation that he has come, so I thought I'd just…"

"You thought 'you'd just'?! Maso, what, may I ask, is wrong with you? You're the Minister of Magic!"

Maso shrugged. "You were already here, Massimo. I don't see what the problem-"

Draco had just watched this interaction, dumbfounded but amusement rising quickly until Massimo raised a giant sparking spoon in his direction. Realizing that this was probably not the best situation to be in, he tried to slink toward the door.

"Oh no you don't, Mr. Pointy-Face-who-gave-my-brother-an-excuse-to-make-me-stay-here. You're coming to dinner. You obviously don't eat enough. You're so thin!"

"Massimo, you should really stop sounding like Mama…"

It had been over dinner that the idea that he should model came up. Massimo and Maso had a family like the Weasleys only classier, Draco decided as he munched on the fresh bread and seafood risotto with wine that made up dinner. He bet the Weasleys just shoved food in their mouths and talked while it was still in there. But the Luccianos, even though their family was as big, were continental to the core and took hours over dinner in the back room of Massimo's restaurant.

"Draco, honey. Eat more. You're a stick figure." Mama Lucciano murmured as she put another heaping helping on his plate.

"Mama! I want to be as thin as Draco." whined Saveria, the twin's little sister who was the same shape as her mother… round.

"But why, Sava? You are beautiful as is." Massimo's wife's flattery wasn't the best, but Saveria's argument came out just a little weaker when it came.

"But Draco could be a model."

Draco had come to Milan with only what he had on him and he was sure when it was discovered he was gone, any accounts his parents had access to would be swallowed up within theirs. It didn't matter if he was over 17 and a legal adult, he was still a pure-blood son and that counted where the Ministry was concerned… except he had his key, he realized. Maybe…

"Thank you for the meal. I really need to go. If I hurry, maybe I can…"

"No no no… you stay here tonight. No reason to spend money on hotel when you can have a home roof over your head."

"Oh Mama… The boy is probably tired. He'll wanting to just begin to try to set up his new life." Maso sighed, trying to cajole his mother.

"Nonsense. Draco, you stay here tonight. It's Sunday. Nothing will be open, much less this late."

Surprised by this information, Draco could only acquiesce. "Thank you ma'am."

"No 'Ma'am,' young man." She suddenly looked fierce before her features again settled in her familiar soft smile. "Call me 'Mama.'"

Draco returned the smile "Then thank you Mama Lucciano."

Mama's face broke out into an unabashed grin.

. 

Not another one! The paparazzi were after him again, assuming he was a model or an actor or something exotic like that. Maybe Saveria was right. They'd followed him for days after he left Maso's house – to the bank, to the realtor's, even to every restaurant that he decided to try. They even tried to follow him when he went into a robe shop on the Italian version of Diagon Alley! This was getting annoying, to say the very least. But he was a Malfoy, and as such wouldn't curse them into oblivion because they annoyed him. He only sighed as he turned around to find another teenaged girl with a camera, and gave a gargled shriek, and with a turn, disapparated back to Maso's house, as he hadn't yet found an apartment.

Authors notes: Amory Blackwood here, no, I haven't died yet. I've just been ignoring my Naruto fics, and I may take them down until I find the muse who started 'em, so I can continue on them. But this muse came up and bashed me over the head with a plot line, but only half of it. My co-writer Jemtmtraveler has the other half of the plot line. Lets hope you all love it as much as we do.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had just wanted to disappear as well after the war. He'd vanished without a trace to Paris after killing Voldemort and managed for a while to stay under the radar there for a while. But the British Ministry had finally found him. Why they would send AURORS to get him back was an issue on its own, but all he wanted was to get out of the spotlight. He sighed happily as he hid in the basement of 12 Grimmauld Place. At least now he had a hobby and a place no one could find him.

He had found this spot upon his forced return. No one had been allowed to see him forcibly returned, but somehow a picture had been taken and released anonymously that showed how very displeased he had been to return. Of course Harry knew who it had been. Rita Skeeter had snuck into the house later that night before it had been printed to get an exclusive interview that showed the true Harry Potter. The threat to her job should anyone find out it was her work was enough to make her print the truth… in his words. Both of them knew that an article like that would ruin the Ministry in these post-war times and that they would try to suppress it. 11:59 pm was, therefore, the perfect time to turn in the article and ensure it was printed with little opportunity to be forced to make changes.

Since the article came out, Harry had been under house arrest with nothing to do but explore his godfather's home. An old sewing machine combined with an unplottable room and he had a studio set up to begin his new life. He would continue his budding fashion design ideas on his own and wait until he had enough prototypes to set up a store all his own. He'd also been fashioning a second wand, using the best of the computer he'd snuck out to get. The magical tether to London would be easy to sever with his own wand, he decided as he doodled another outfit he would soon begin… and then he would drop it. Faking his own kidnapping would be the best recourse… then he could set up in London itself and forget the existence of Harry Potter, weapon of the Wizarding World of England. He smiled and signed the doodle 'EJ'… Evon Jameson would soon be born and with him, the line EnJambment.

The next morning, while eating his cereal, coco puffs to be exact, a knock came at the door. "Dobby, would you get the door?" Harry said around his cereal.

"Yes, Master Harry, Dobby would love to get the door for his master" Dobby squeaked as he ran toward the door. As he opens the door, an annoying voice calls out.

"Oi! Harry, where the hell are you?" Ron bellowed out.

"Sitting in my kitchen, eating breakfast in my pajamas," Harry replied, quite bored, "Where I have been for the last month, under house arrest, like your bloody department deemed was necessary." He takes another bite of cereal, "Although I have no clue why its necessary, Voldemort is dead, most of the Death Eaters who were his biggest supporters are dead, why in the bloody hell am I stuck at home?"

"Well, Harry, you know the minister is concerned for your health…"

"Concerned for my health my ass, Ron. He just wants me around as a bloody status symbol, and we both know it." Harry looks down at Dobby, indicating he is done with breakfast.

"Yes, Master Harry?" Dobby asks, squeaking. "What is it that Dobby can be doing for you right now?"

"Show Mr. Weasley out Dobby, I'm not in the mood for visitors," Harry says, sadly.

"You'll be coming along then, Mr. Weasley. Master Harry does not want visitors, no visitors shall be here" Dobby murmurs to himself. "Come on Weasley, you need to be leaving."

"Harry, mate, come on now…" Ron barely gets out before Harry cuts him off viciously.

"No, Ron. Don't 'Harry, mate' me. You haven't ever been my friend really, you were just there hanging onto my coat-tails, wanting the fame I had, never realizing exactly what price I damn well paid to get the fame I never bloody wanted in the first place."

"Come on Harry, you know what I meant," Ron retorted hotly, not caring that he was overstepping his role as guest, and heading straight into acting like Molly.

"No Ron, I don't know. All you ever have done is try to hold me back, and make me a slacker like you. You never cared about what I was feeling, or what was going on in my life. It was always 'My life this, my life that'. What about my life Ron? I grew up without my parents, without any friends from that area, without family. I grew up unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. My aunt and uncle despise me, and my cousin tortured me. How the hell am I supposed to know love?" Harry railed at Ron, not caring what it was doing to his supposed friendship. "You only cared if I was doing something that went against Dumbledore's supposed plans for me. Dumbledore never cared if I lived or died, so long as the dark lord was vanquished. He never cared if I lost my life along with him. Alive, I would be a hero, dead? I would be his fucking martyr. The-Boy-Who-Died-For-Us is so much more than just the effing Boy-Who-Lived."

"Harry, that's not how it was, and you know it. Dumbledore loved you." Ron sputtered out, taken aback at the venom spilling from Harry's mouth. "Yes, you were supposed to be the one to vanquish He-who-must-not-be-named. You were the one in the prophecy."

"Prophecy my ass Ronald. There were two of us that could have been the subject. It was your fucking pet rat that led Voldemort to my parents, and to me. And as for Dumbledore loving me? Don't make me laugh, if that old coot loved me, he wouldn't have put me with wizard hating muggles, he would have put me with someone who loved me, and would have raised me. I was neglected, tormented, and abused my entire life. He could have intervened with Sirius' "trial" and kept him out of Azkaban, and kept him in my life. The man who should have raised me spent my entire life in a hellhole, in constant torment, all because of one man's supposed plan to save the bloody world. It rested on the shoulders of a 10-year-old boy who had no idea what the hell was going on. And his plan hinged on the boy being downtrodden so he would meekly follow along to his tune, all laid out nice and pretty. So you tell me what kind of life I should have had, knowing the entire time I was supposed to kill someone no one else had been able to kill before." Harry slowly turned away from Ron, not even wanting to look at him anymore, lest he do him bodily harm. "Now you can get out of my house, and never return."

A/N: Yes, yes, Harry is quite angry with Ronald. Not without cause though. Just think about it. Read and review!


	3. Chapter 3

Draco found that the decision to take the job that Saveria so desired was not very difficult;  
all the agencies he talked to seemed to want him to represent them, but he had the small  
problem of having no permanent address. Even though Mama had told him he was welcome to stay  
as long as he liked, he still yearned for a place of his own. Despite the warm blessing that  
the Luciano family had become, he felt the longer he stayed, the more of a burden he was  
placing on them and if there was one thing his father had taught him that stuck it was that  
a Malfoy never accepted charity.

This wasn't to say he wasn't looking... in fact, he had found quite a few apartments that  
looked promising. But nothing seemed to fit. Even though the old saying stated that beggars  
can't be choosers, there was something off about every single one that he looked at. It was  
beyond comprehension.

About a month and a half after he arrived in Milan, he managed to escape his fanatic  
followers for a few frantic fragments of time alone. Finding himself having outrun them into  
a slightly dingy alley, he leaned against one of the walls gave a huge sigh of frustration.  
Even though he was usually not one to give in to the superstition of believing there was a  
god, he shot a silent inquiry out into the abyss. And when he looked up, he saw the answer  
right in front of his eyes - a sign on a side door clearly stating that there was a vacancy  
inside. Feeling a supernatural chill race down his spine, he raised a hand to knock.  
The door flew open before he released his muscles and a spry elderly woman peered out at him.  
"Oh my... you're here about the room, I suppose. I'm Kirstjn Addario nee Svartsdotter. You  
must be Draco Malfoy."

Draco stared at this crazy woman for a minute before his voice appeared again. But before he  
could respond, she tapped the side of her nose and her eyes glittered mischievously,  
signaling in some strange way that it was a secret how she knew. Then she stood back, as if  
to allow him to enter her abode, which was exactly what she was doing. Shaking off the creepy  
feeling that this woman was more secrets than answers, Draco entered the house and went up  
to the attic as she directed him - to find it was exactly right. It had been clearly  
transformed into a studio apartment with a small bed and bath and a fabulous view over what  
seemed to be the whole city.

"It's perfect..." It came out as more of a whisper, but Kirstjn just smiled approvingly and  
nodded.

"Let's finish business after dinner. It's about time I saw Allegra Luciano again and caught  
up with the rest of the family."

On their way the few blocks it was to the Luciano house, Draco's curiosity finally got the  
better of him. "How did you know...?"

"My boy, do you really need to ask? You're in the middle of magical Milan and have been  
living with a family of the biggest gossips the town knows."

"Oh. My. God. Draco! How lucky are you?!" Saveria exclaimed as she rushed out of the house as  
fast as she could to meet him. When Draco's ignorance of what she was referring to became  
evident, she gasped in shock. "You seriously don't know?! You're walking with Kirstjn Svart,  
one of the most famous models of her time! What any beginning model would give for the  
networking potential you're getting right now!"

"You are interested in modeling?" Kirstjn asked, feigning surprise. Draco whispered back

"Like you didn't already know that..."

"Careful Nonna Kirstjn... the steps are a little more worn than the last time you were here"  
Masso called as he exited to help her into the house.

"Draco... I have decided. I will represent your starting endeavors - now now young man. I will  
not take no for an answer. It is the advantage I have to being old, not taking no if I don't  
want to. But you will need a name that will make you famous... D Malfoi, the way your  
ancestors spelt it perhaps? True to you, and yet unique. I may have to have help though; my  
sight is not what it once was"

"Massimo would be glad to help, Nonna" Masso volunteered.

"Massimo will do nothing of the sort" came the growl from the kitchen. Even if it was what  
would happen, it would not be without a fight... Though once Mama entered the conversation,  
it was over and decided much to Massimo's dismay. He waved his spoon at his brother, the  
eternal threat that his brother had better watch his back.

At last, Draco was ready for his premiere entrance to the world as a model. "Let it Rock" by  
Kevin Rudolf", a prime example of American music blasted out of the speakers signaling the  
start of the show. And Draco did what he does best - walk out into a room full of people full  
of confidence, drawing every eye as he glided across the stage.

"I think he will do well... yes. I am certain he will." Kirstjn mused as her sightless eyes  
followed Draco's progress in the show. "He will do well indeed. Life is already on its way  
up from the pits he has lived in until now."


	4. Chapter 4

After having been unceremoniously tossed out of Harry's house, Ron turned on the spot and disapparated straight to the apartment he shared with Hermione. "He had me tossed out 'Mione. Me! His best friend. Tossed out of my ears like a common bum," railed Ron at his un-amused fiancée.

"Well, what did you expect Ronald? He's been cooped up in Grimmauld place for months now. No one has visited him, and he hasn't been allowed to leave," replied Hermione, giving Ron a glare that should have lit his eyebrows on fire. "I don't care if the Minister thinks he's safer there. Anyone would go starkers stuck in one building by themselves with one old house elf for company."

"But Hermione, it was decided by all of the Aurors and Minister Slughorn that Harry would be safer at Grimmauld, out of the light of the media and remaining Death Eaters."

"Ronald, what did you expect Harry to do while he is there BY HIMSELF?! You get bored in less than 5 minutes unless you are working on a case, talking about the Cannons, badmouthing Malfoy, or some combination thereof. Harry has already catalogued the Black Library, moved that annoying painting of Sirius's Aunt Walburga, and banished the house elf heads off the wall. What else is he supposed to do while there?" Hermione retorted, going back to reading her book.

"Well, he could work on rebuilding that mouldering old ruin." Ron began, looking at his fiancée oddly.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, YOU and your department, as you are head of the Auror Department, make it nearly impossible for Harry to do anything to that place. He isn't allowed to owl order anything; you won't let Hedwig out at all. All of his mail is first sent to the Ministry, where it is then gone through for harmful objects and curses, and then only sent when you think it's important that Harry see it. No one knows it's there; it's been un-plottable since the day it was built. In the Muggle world, number 12 Grimmauld Place, has never and will never exist. You cannot deliver supplies to a place that doesn't exist. What else is he supposed to do? Work on his magic? He's read through the entire Library there, but he can't do anything practical as ANY use of magic calls your department there so fast his head spins. Dobby barely visits anymore from Hogwarts, you show up not more than a minute after he does and proceed to question him into stupidity as to why he is there, what he will be doing there, how long he plans on staying, if he brought anything with him, and all sorts of questions Minister Slughorn and YOU think necessary. You've driven off his friends with this behavior. You know I don't like three-fourths of what Minister Slughorn has done while he's been in office, it's why I didn't take the position in the Department of Mysteries, and I wouldn't have been able to work for him without hexing him into some semblance of jelly." Hermione continues, exasperated at Ron.

Ron begins to look like he wants to sink into his chair, through said object, through the floor of the apartment, and straight into a dark, deep hole in the ground. Never has his Hermione gone off on him like this, not even while they were attending Hogwarts and he hadn't finished his parchment for class.

"Ronald, are you even listening to me? I don't know why I even put up with you some days," Hermione's voice cuts through his musings. He looks up, she is holding a fluttering blue paper bird that just appeared in their living room, and she has changed into her Healer's robes. "Good, you sit and think for a while about Harry's situation and why most of it is YOUR fault. I won't be back tonight; I've been called in to work." With that Hermione stalks out of the apartment, and into the alley where she Disapparates straight to St Mungo's.

A/N: I know, its not much, but I thought it would be fun to write Ron's reaction to being tossed out of his friends house. And for the paranoid people, yes Dobby was visiting Harry that day.


End file.
